


Bean's

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, Triplets, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This verse may forever be a little WIP. I'll write on it when inspo strikes. Beta’d by <a href="http://www.literaryoblivion.com/">Freck</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Call me, Maybe?

**Author's Note:**

> This verse may forever be a little WIP. I'll write on it when inspo strikes. Beta’d by [Freck](http://www.literaryoblivion.com/).

When Dean had returned home from his third tour in Iraq, he’d begged the universe for a mundane life. No more guns, no more Arabic, no more shitty showers and MREs; Dean just wanted quiet. About a month after Dean’s honorable discharge, his old war buddy Benny suggested they open a coffee shop together on KU’s campus, and Dean had said, “What the hell.” He was definitely no coffee connoisseur, never drank anything but straight, black joe, but owning a coffee shop on a college campus seemed about as mundane as Dean could get. Within a few weeks, he’d found himself signing on the dotted line of a business loan as co-owner of Bean’s and looking up everything there was to know about coffee. Shortly thereafter, their shop opened up, and now, Dean spends his days from open to close serving coffee to over worked college students and tired looking professors.

That is how he met Castiel.

Castiel is the head of the history department at KU, and he frequents Bean’s twice a day, once in the morning before his first block of classes begins and again in the afternoon before evening classes. He’s been coming around now for about three months, and in those three months, Dean has not only learned Castiel’s coffee order (usually a hot tea but as of late their peppermint latte), but also that the quiet professor has shocking blue eyes and a smile that’s rarely seen but that causes Dean’s heart to drop to his stomach when it’s offered.

For three months now, Dean has been trying to will away the stupid knots in his stomach, and muster up the courage to just give the guy his phone number already, but he’s faced down terrorists less terrifying than Castiel. So twice a day Dean let’s Castiel leave with nothing but his most charming smile and a few extra napkins (because Cas has to go all the way across campus to get to the history wing). It’s been three months of incessant bitching from Benny and shameless, unrequited pining from Dean because he’s a coward, if he’s anything when it comes to men he’s interested in, and so Dean quietly pines while Castiel remains in the dark. And since he’s known Castiel, not once has Dean ever failed to turn into a nervous wreck each time the familiar crop of dark hair and crooked blue tie shows up in his coffee shop. It’s ridiculous really.

This day, of course, is no different. The minute Castiel steps into Bean’s, Benny retreats to the back with a muttered, “Go get ‘em, brother,” leaving Dean alone with Castiel and his own out of control heart beat that Dean’s sure people in the next state over can hear.

Dean wills himself to calm the fuck down and offers the man a smile. “Morning Professor,” he drawls taking in Castiel’s state. He’s donned in his classic trench coat and suit get up, blue tie backwards as ever, and there’s a slight flush on his cheeks and nose that means he probably just came in from outside. He looks pretty freaking adorable and Dean suddenly feels both grateful and irritated with the counter that’s currently separating them because it’s about the only thing that’s stopping him from grabbing Castiel by the lapels and kissing the guy right on the face.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel mutters politely, crow’s feet forming at his eyes and a small, private smile, as if reserved just for these moments with Dean, taking its place on Castiel’s face.

Dean’s stomach does a back flip.

"So what’ll it be today?" Dean asks, a steady reminder of _keep it together, Winchester_ , thrumming through his brain, “Still having a love affair with our peppermint latte?”

Castiel lets out a small chuckle and ducks his head a bit as he responds, “I’m afraid so. But just a grande today, please; hot.”

Dean nods and grabs a cup to start Castiel’s order. As he works he can feel Castiel’s eyes on him. He feels like he should say something, anything, to ease the silence between them, but he’s afraid if he opens his mouth, he’ll start quoting one of those really terrible pop songs Charlie insists on blasting every morning on their way to the gym. Words like, “I love you like a love song, baby," hang on the tip of his tongue, so instead, he keeps his mouth shut.

When Dean turns back around, completed drink in hand, and his eyes meet the professor’s once more, the pink in Castiel’s cheeks deepens, and he quickly looks away. Dean smiles to himself and writes ‘Cas’ and draws a smiley face on the coffee cup before passing it and a handful of extra napkins over to the other man.

Castiel places exact change on the counter and takes the cup and napkins. “Thank you, Dean,” he says.

"Anytime, Professor, see you later." Another warm smile from Castiel comes his way, and then, Dean is watching Castiel’s retreating form as he leaves Bean’s. As soon as the other man is out of earshot, Dean groans at himself and Benny comes back to the front.

"Who are you and what have you done with Lieutenant Winchester?"

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asks slamming the register shut with a little more force than necessary.

"You were the bravest man in our platoon," Benny comments settling in next to Dean with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the door. "If someone had told me you’d be afraid of your own crush, I’d have laughed right in their face."

"I do not have a crush," Dean grumbles, "and I’m not afraid of him."

"Brother, I’ve seen you less terrified staring down the barrel of a gun," Benny points out. Dean doesn’t respond, but he knows Benny is far from dropping the issue. "Why don’t you just drop him your number?"

Dean sighs and pulls a rag from beneath the counter and begins to wipe down the already clean surfaces, avoiding eye contact with Benny. “Dude,” he beings dejectedly, “he’s him and I’m me. That’s why.”

"So?" Benny throws his arms out to the side, his voice raising a little, most of the joking manner gone from his tone.

"So, I have bullet holes in my ribs," Dean counters, "and-" he shakes his head, "and night terrors. I’ve got blood on my hands, and I feel more comfortable around a bunch of Iraqis screaming at me in Arabic than I do around all these college kids. Nobody wants to deal with that shit. Hell, I don’t even want to deal with that shit." Dean ends his rant with a glance towards his friend. If there’s anyone that might understand, it’s Benny, but Benny’s just shaking his head at Dean.

"Why don’t you let him decide if he wants to deal with it?" he asks with a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder.

"Because I’m a mess," Dean mutters looking down at his hands. Benny sighs and tightens his grip.

"One of these days," he says, "you’ll realize you’re the only one that thinks that."

After that Benny disappears into the back again, something about inventory or some shit and Dean’s left to man the register. For the rest of the morning, he mulls over what Benny said and begins to think that maybe his advice wasn’t so terrible after all. What was so wrong with letting Castiel decide whether or not Dean was too much of a head case to take a chance on?

By early afternoon Dean’s decided that if Castiel comes back again before his afternoon classes, he’s going to do it. He’s going to give the guy his number. It’s risky and it scares the shit out of him, but if he doesn’t give it a shot, he’ll never know.

About an hour later, he’s met with that familiar blue stare again, and he almost wishes Castiel hadn’t come back so soon. He isn’t exactly ready to drop his digits quite yet, but he’d made a promise to himself. Aside from that he really wants Benny to quit bitching.

"Hey!" Dean says happily when the other man stops on the other side of the counter.

He’s met with a small, almost shy smile, and a polite, “Hello.”

The two stand and stare at each other for a good few minutes and the more Dean looks at the other guy, the more he realizes something is off. He can’t exactly place what it is, but it builds like an itch under his skin. He drops his eyes to where Castiel’s twisted blue tie usually rests and realizes there is no tie. There is no suit or trench coat either. Instead the man across from him is in a navy blue sweater and dark trousers that Dean’s never seen before. (And since when did he start cataloguing Castiel’s wardrobe?)

"Nice sweater," Dean says. The sweater looks good. It’s a good shade of blue for Castiel’s eyes and fits him better than the rumbled suit and trench coat number he usually shows up in, but it’s almost disconcerting to see Castiel in anything other than his usual attire.

The other man glances down at his clothing and then there’s blue on green again and another smile, this time grateful. “Thank you,” he says.

Dean nods slowly. The sweater wasn’t it. Something is still off. “So, what’ll it be?” Dean asks.

"A venti peppermint latte and a grande Chai tea. To go, please." The last is added almost as an afterthought and Dean raises his eyebrows at the double drink order but doesn’t comment on it for the moment.

"Coming right up," Dean says instead and then he turns from the counter and pulls out a couple of cups. He quickly writes his phone number on the peppermint latte cup along with "Here’s my number, so call me maybe?" He also makes a mental note to kick Charlie’s ass for her heinous choice of music and before he can change his mind, begins to fill the cup.

In just a few short moments the drink order is finished and Dean puts them in a to-go container and slides it across the counter. As he rings up the drinks his curiosity gets the better of him.”Extra thirsty this afternoon, huh?” he asks plinking away at the register.

"Hmmmm?"

Dean points at both the drinks in answer and a smile of realization crosses the other man’s face.

"Oh they’re not both for me," comes the response, "I have a lunch date." There’s a delighted glitter in the guy’s eyes and Dean’s heart drops to his stomach again, and not in the usual way it does when he’s around Castiel. Instead he’s fighting off throwing his hands in the air, attempting to keep himself from shouting, "Of course you do!" But really, of course he does. Who was Dean kidding thinking he had any kind of chance with someone as smart and kind as Castiel? And isn’t that just great because now there’s Dean’s phone number and a freaking Carly Rae Jepson lyric on the dude’s cup and then bills are sliding across the counter and the drinks are being pulled out of Dean’s reach. It’s too late now, to take anything back, but Dean fights the urge to jump over the counter and take the drinks back.

"Keep the change," he’s told with a warm smile and then he’s absolutely gaping as he watches that blue sweater walk out of his coffee shop. Of all the terrible ways that could have gone, Dean is certain that was at the top of the list.

 

Dean is not surprised in the least when Castiel does not call that night.

 

The next day Dean’s in a crabby mood and Benny’s bright smile does nothing to ease the bitterness Dean’s feeling. Benny’s “Hey, brother,” is answered with a grumble, and Dean spends most of the morning in the back sorting and breaking down boxes instead of working out front with the customers. He’s not in the mood to play nice.

Benny comes to the back around 8:15 and tells Dean he has to make a phone call and asks him to go up front to cover for him for a few minutes.

"Who the hell makes phone calls at 8 in the morning?" Dean mutters under his breath as he brushes past Benny and tugs an apron down from the hook by the door before stepping out front. Luckily there’s no one in the shop so Dean doesn’t even have to cash in a fake smile. He stands behind the register going over and over in his head what happened yesterday and his mind wanders to other things, assumptions he forms out of his own self-doubt. Castiel probably found his phone number during the lunch date and laughed about it with his date. He’s probably going to start stopping at Starbucks on his way to school now; probably won’t step foot in Bean’s ever again because Dean just had to go and be the world’s biggest weirdo and give his phone number to a guy whom, if he was being honest with himself, he barely even knew.

The quiet grate of someone clearing their throat pulls Dean from his thoughts and his head snaps up.

It’s the backwards blue tie that he notices first and then his eyes find the man’s standing across from him.

"Cas!" he gasps out, still in between his self-sabotaging thoughts and the realization that Castiel is once again standing across from him.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says.

”Hey, man. Sorry,” Dean stutters, “didn’t see you there.”

"It’s alright, Dean."

If Dean thought something was off with Castiel yesterday, it’s nothing compared to the feeling he gets from the professor now. Castiel seems tired, disappointed almost. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the cloudiness in his eyes and sure Dean made a fool of himself yesterday, but the way Castiel regards him, like Dean’s kicked his puppy, makes an anxious knot form in Dean’s stomach.

"You okay, Cas?" he asks. It’s not what he meant to say, but there it is.

Castiel nods and looks down at his hands before raising his gaze to Dean’s again. “Yes,” he replies, “I’m okay.”

Dean nods, too. Alright. If Cas isn’t going to bring it up, neither will Dean.

"What can I get you this morning?"

"Green tea today, please," Castiel says, "Hot. Grande."

"Sure thing, Professor." He turns from Castiel and puts together the drink. When he turns back around and hands Castiel the cup he realizes for the first time that Castiel is back in his suit and tie. The sweater was nice but if Dean has to admit it, the trench coat is a welcoming sight. Cas just wouldn’t be Cas without it.

"Back to the suit and tie today, huh?" he asks as he rings up the tea.

Castiel frowns down at his clothing, “I don’t understand,” he says.

"You know, instead of that sweater you were wearing yesterday, when I acted like an idiot and gave you my phone number?" If kicking oneself was possible, Dean would be doing it right now. _Not_ talk about it, that’s what they’d silently agreed to do but here he was bringing up the one thing he’d be content to forget ever happened. Maybe Castiel will ignore it and explain why he changed his clothes half way through the day yesterday. When he looks up at Castiel, he’s met with an extremely confused expression.

"You gave me your phone number?" the other man asks, and okay so they’re not going to talk about the sweater. That’s cool.

"Yeah," Dean responds. Just seconds ago he thought acting like the whole thing never happened would be the ideal solution, but now that that seems to be the approach Castiel is actually taking, it kind of sucks. "Sorry about that," Dean says finally, "didn’t mean to make things awkward."

Castiel still seems confused though. His brow is pulled into a deep furrow, and his eyes are darting back and forth across the counter top as if he’s trying to recall the exact details of yesterday’s disaster, like he missed something. “Dean,” he begins. When he continues the words come out slowly as if he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he’s trying to convince Dean. “You did not give me your phone number; I assure you I would have remembered that happening.”

Things have gone from irritating to just downright confusing in a matter of minutes and suddenly Dean just wants to get this freaking conversation over with and be done. “Dude, yes I did. Yesterday afternoon when you came back in? I wrote it on the peppermint latte, remember? Right before you told me you had a lunch date?”

"Dean, this does not sound-" Castiel stops short, a look of realization finally crossing his features, "Yesterday afternoon?" he asks.

Dean nods.

"Blue sweater?"

Another nod.

"And you wrote it on the peppermint latte cup that you assumed was meant for me?"

"Uh, yeah, Cas." Dean’s response is short, but he only feels somewhat bad about it. The guy is confusing the shit out of him, and there’s a headache forming just behind Dean’s left eye. It’s not uncommon since coming back from the war, but the conversation with Castiel definitely isn’t helping.

Castiel smiles then, a wide grin breaking out across his face. He picks up his tea and gives Dean a wad of bills before saying, “Thank you,” and rushing out of the coffee shop.

As he watches Castiel go Dean notes that sweating bullets in the middle of a desert with a gun slung over his shoulder and nothing but his broken Arabic to save his ass was so much easier than trying to decipher what had just happened.

This is not the type of mundane he’d craved when he’d returned home.

Dean spends the rest of the day in his and Benny’s office making phone calls and placing orders, and it isn’t until Benny leavs for lunch that Dean’s forced to go up front again. It’s 1:20, which is later than when Castiel normally returns in the afternoon, so Dean’s pretty sure he’s dodged another awkward run in with the guy, but then as fate would have it, when he steps up front, he finds not one but two Castiel’s standing on the other side of the counter staring at him.

One is the Castiel from yesterday, the same navy blue sweater hugging his slim, muscular frame, and the other is in the boxy suit and rebellious tie. This Castiel, _his_ Castiel, he thinks, is the one that breaks the silence.

"Hello, Dean," he says just like always and even though Dean is still ten kinds of embarrassed over the whole thing, that phrase and the rumble of Castiel’s voice still warms Dean’s skin and makes a smile twitch at the corner of his lips.

"Hey, Cas," he answers, eyes flicking from one man to the other, "…and Cas."

The man in the blue sweater chuckles lightly, and the man in the suit speaks again. “Dean, I’d like you to meet Emmanuel, my brother.” He gestures to the man in the navy sweater. “He’s in from out of town, and we had lunch together yesterday. I had him stop in for coffee as I was tied up with a student.”

Dean looks back and forth between the two of them. Of course they can’t both actually be Castiel, but they look so strikingly similar that it’s throwing Dean for a loop. The answer is obvious, but it still takes him a minute to take in the navy blue sweater and Castiel’s tell-tale backwards blue tie and pair it with what’s just been said. “You’re twins!” he finally sputters.

Castiel nods with a smile, “Something like that,” he confirms, and Dean can’t even begin to wonder what the hell that even means before Castiel is speaking again. “I apologize for the confusion yesterday and this morning. When Emmanuel said the man in the coffee shop wrote his phone number on his cup, I assumed it was meant for him, not me.”

"The peppermint latte was for him," Dean gathers. Castiel and Emmanuel nod in unison. Dean nods, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "You probably thought I was some kind of creep," he says to Emmanuel.

"No," Emmanuel corrects, "just friendly. And extremely bold. I thought because of the lyrics to the song…" he trails off, and Dean shakes his head at the ceiling. All he’d written was, here’s my number, so call me maybe, but if Emmanuel was familiar with the song it made sense as to why he thought the digits were for him. Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe…

"And you," Dean finally looks at Castiel again, "you thought I was hitting on your brother."

"I did," Castiel admits.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters to himself before looking at the brothers, “I’m sorry,” he says, “I swear I’m a pretty normal guy, I just have a tendency to act like a real ass sometimes.”

"Its fine, Dean," Emmanuel says. His voice is gentle and reassuring, and it sounds so much like Castiel but yet so entirely different that Dean feels like he can’t keep up. He takes another minute to digest all he’s learned and then compose himself.

"So, uh, what can I get for you guys this afternoon? It’s on the house today," Dean offers. The sooner he can get the two of them out of his coffee shop, the sooner he can hit his head against the wall a couple of times and move on from this disaster.

Emmanuel places his order, a tall peppermint latte again because of course the guy loves them now too after trying one the previous day. Dean rings it up and then looks at Castiel.

"Professor?" he asks.

"Dean, what’s your favorite?" Castiel asks. His head is cocked to the side like a curious puppy, and his eyes are soft and assessing. In all the time Dean and Benny have owned Bean’s, no one has ever asked Dean that, and it takes him a few seconds to realize he even has a favorite other than straight, black coffee.

"Uh, salted caramel," he admits, "with whipped cream."

"I’ll have one of those, and a Chai tea latte, please."

Again with the two drinks, but this time Dean says nothing and simply rings up the order.

When the drinks are finished, Dean sets them on the counter. Castiel puts down a few bills even though Dean had offered to foot the bill and then picks up the salted caramel and uncaps a pen before quickly scrawling something on the side of the cup. When he’s finished he pushes the cup back into Dean’s hand.

"This is for you," Castiel explains. He has one of those small smiles on his face and some of the ice around Dean’s heart melts just a little. Its nearly impossible to be irritated with himself when Castiel is standing in front of him with his stupid big blue eyes and his adorable crooked blue tie. Dean doesn’t look at the cup, he simply nods and then Castiel and Emmanuel turn to leave the shop. As they go, Dean glances down at the cup. In Castiel’s neat, loopy handwriting is a short message: _My last class ends at six, I’ll be expecting your call._ Next to it is Castiel’s phone number. Castiel’s number, _for him_.

Suddenly Dean feels warm all over.

He looks up to watch the brothers as they leave. Emmanuel bumbs his navy clad shoulder against Castiel's, and the two of the smile at each other in a fond sort of amusement.

The last thing Dean hears is definitely Emmanuel’s voice. “So,” he asks as they walk, “do you think he’s ready to meet Jimmy?”


	2. Very Not a Disney Film

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas's first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by Freckie Freckleson. CW: minor anxiety attack, brief mentions of minor character death, Dean angst. — And here’s the dealio about this verse. I do have more planned. But I have other writing projects that I really want/need to get done first. So. When I’m feeling it and have time, I’ll add to it. Until then you can track ‘triplets verse’ on my tumblr for updates.

Talking to Castiel each time he came into Bean’s had been somewhat easy for Dean. Their conversations were always kept simple and the topics brief and very rarely did Dean ever feel like he was scrambling for something to say to the professor.

Calling Castiel is a little more difficult.

Dean has just locked up for the evening and is sitting in the KU parking lot in the Impala with a beating heart and shaking hands as he dials Castiel’s number. As the phone rings against his ear, he considers, more than once, hanging up. Sure, Castiel had said he’d be expecting Dean’s call, but Dean had racked his brain all day, trying to find the right words to say, and had come up with nothing.

The professor picks up the line before Dean can hang up. “Hello?”

"Hey, Cas, it’s me," Dean says, "Dean Winchester, the uh- the barista at Bean’s?" Dean cringes.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hi, Cas."

Silence falls on both ends of the line, and Dean listens to the quiet pattern of breathing coming from Castiel’s end before he realizes he should probably say something.

"So, um, how was class?"

"It was just fine, thank you."

"Good."

"Yes." Dean shakes his head and drops it into a hand, cursing himself for being unable to get his shit together. With women, things like this were never a problem. He had charmed his way into countless beds, could flirt his way into almost anything, the words flowing easily when soft curves and breasts were involved; but when it came to men, especially Castiel, Dean became a mess of nerves. 

Dean opens his mouth to say something, anything that will make the uncomfortable silence go away, but Castiel’s voice sounds over the line before Dean can get the words out.

"Dean, would you like to have dinner with me this weekend?" 

Dean leans back against his seat and sighs, “Yeah, Cas, I would,” he says, relief washing over him that Castiel took the initiative.

"Wonderful."

~

Dean arrives at the address Castiel had given him earlier in the week and stares up at the house through his passenger side window. It’s not overly fancy or large, but for a single man in his mid thirties, it seems oversized.

Dean cuts the engine and gets out, eyeing the old Lincoln Continental parked in the driveway as he approaches the front door. It’s not quite dark outside yet, but the porch light is on and casts a cheery yellow glow that spills out onto the front steps and makes Dean feel welcome.

Dean stands in front of the door for a good few seconds, just breathing in and out, and then all too soon, he’s knocking on the door and wiping his palms on his jeans as he waits. The door swings open, and Dean’s met with a warm smile and soft eyes.

"Dean."

"Not, Cas," Dean states with an awkward pointing motion at the man standing across from him, "Emmanuel, right?"   
Emmanuel’s smile deepens and he nods his head. “Right,” he confirms. He pulls the door open and steps to the side, “Come in,” he says, “Castiel is around here somewhere.”

Dean nods and steps inside, and Emmanuel closes the door behind them.

Emmanuel takes off across the entryway and to the left, and Dean assumes he’s meant to follow, so he does. He finds himself in a big open room, a living room on the right and a kitchen and dining room on the left.

Castiel is seated at the dining room table, a pair of glasses perched on his nose and stacks of papers strewn out in front of him.

"Castiel, Dean is here," Emmanuel states as he walks into the kitchen leaving Dean to stand alone in the living room, gaping at Castiel.

When Castiel looks up, the corners of his mouth twitch up and his shoulders seem to relax a little. “Hello, Dean,” Castiel rumbles from across the table.

Dean swallows hard and stares. He knows it’s his turn to say something, but the sight of the professor in those simple black frames has Dean wanting to demand to know why Castiel doesn’t wear them all the time.

"I didn’t know you wear glasses," Dean blurts out because a nice simple "hello" back would just be too easy.

Castiel nods and then, regretfully, pulls the glasses from his face. “Only when I’m reading,” he explains as he folds the frames, “they’re a nuisance.”

They’re hot, Dean wants to say, but they aren’t even officially on their first date yet, and so he keeps the comment to himself and simply nods his understanding.

Castiel stands from the table and arranges the papers in front of him into a somewhat presentable stack before stowing them in a manila folder. As Dean watches he realizes Castiel isn’t in his usual suit and tie get up, but in a pair of semi-worn jeans and a casual white button down instead. Before Dean can even lament the familiarity of Castiel’s everyday attire, the other man bends to pick up a loose piece of paper showing Dean just how good the jeans actually fit him and suddenly, Dean decides, they’re not so bad. 

When they’re finally out the front door and making their way down the walkway, Dean asks, “So, what’s with the house? I mean, it’s nice, but it’s pretty big for just you.”

"It’s my parent’s home," Castiel answers, their shoulders bumping together warmly, "I used to live in a one bedroom apartment, but when my parents left for a mission I moved in to maintain the property."

"And the Lincoln?" Dean asks, "Was that theirs too?"

Castiel chuckles and shakes his head, “No,” he replies, “that is mine.”

Dean smothers a laugh and moves in front of Castiel to unlock and open the passenger side door. Before getting in, Castiel gives Dean a look that’s all soft eyes and a fond smile. It’s accompanied with a gentle, “Thank you,” and then Castiel is sliding into the car.

In the confines of the cab, Dean starts up the car and twists the volume up until there’s a quiet stream of music threading out through the speakers. He puts the car into gear and just before he pulls away from the curb, Castiel says his name.

"Dean."

Dean looks across the cab at the other man, “Yeah, Cas?”

"You smell nice," Castiel states.

Dean can’t help the smile that crawls to his face as he mutters a humble, “Thanks,” and silently praises Charlie for forcing some aftershave on him as he ran out the door earlier that evening. He’s grateful for the darkness shrouding them as he pulls away because there’s a definite blush in his cheeks from the compliment.

They get burgers at a quaint little diner just a few blocks down from where Castiel lives. The conversation comes easily between them in a way Dean didn’t expect. Castiel talks about his students and a little bit about his family, and Dean tells Castiel about Sam and Bean’s. When silence does fall around them, it’s comfortable and only lasts for short amounts of time.

After burgers, they stop for ice cream and eat it while walking on the trail around a park that rests close to the diner. Its dark out now, bright stars spattering the sky and a silvery crescent moon lighting the path, but the air is light and cool and the atmosphere relaxed.

"So is it just you and Emmanuel?" Dean asks after swallowing a spoonful of ice cream. It’s almost gone, but he’s trying to savor it until he can’t any more. He knows the second they throw their empty cups away the date will be over, and Dean’s not ready for that yet. 

A small smile forms on Castiel’s face and he shakes his head at Dean’s question. “No,” he says, “I have another brother, Jimmy. He lives in Illinois.”

"Is he married?"

Castiel shakes his head around a spoonful of the raspberry gelato he’d picked out. “No,” he answers, “but he’s got a daughter. Claire. She’s 12 years old. She’s the only young child in our family, and she’s entirely too spoiled.” Castiel’s voice goes fond as he speaks of Claire and Jimmy, and a warmth fills Dean’s chest at the sound of it. Castiel loves his family; it’s apparent in the way he talks about them. It’s admirable.

Dean finishes his last bite of ice cream but avoids looking for a trash bin. He doesn’t need to, it appears, because after a few moments Castiel is tugging the empty cup from Dean’s hands and tossing it, along with his own, into a trash bin just off the path.

Dean prepares himself for the “I had a nice time” talk, but Castiel doesn’t even stop walking, which leaves Dean with a happy fluttering in his chest and the need to take a few extra steps to catch up with the other man.

“So, it’s just you and Sam, then,” Castiel states as they walk.

“Yeah, my mom died when I was younger, and my dad died a few years before I left for Iraq.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dean shrugs even though he’s sure it’s too dark for the gesture to be seen and doesn’t say anything else on the matter. It had been hard for awhile, but he and Sam were getting by and that’s what mattered.

“How long were you in Iraq for?” Castiel asks.

Dean knew the question was coming, he’d been anticipating it all night, but with it finally out in the open like that, an anxiety starts to curl in his gut at the flood of memories that comes with it.   
“Three tours,” he finally answers, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. “I was a lieutenant for two of them.”

“And that’s how you met Benny?” Castiel wonders.

“Yeah,” Dean confirms, “he was in my platoon.”

“Which you were in charge of,” Castiel states more than questions.

“Which I was in charge of,” Dean repeats.

“What did you do in the army?”

At the question, Dean’s heart rate picks up a little more, and he can feel the press of a headache starting. Right at that moment a group of teenagers, six or seven of them, approach them on skateboards. Their shouts fill Dean’s ears and push everything else out causing him to temporarily feel a heat that isn’t real and see the face of someone he couldn’t save. It’s the same face that haunts his dreams at night and fills him with a heavy regret when he’s awake, the very face that’s the reason he’s home instead of still out in the trenches with the men and women he left behind. 

He stops in the middle of the path and watches the teenagers roll past them with tense shoulders and eyes alert as if he’s back in Iraq. It isn’t until he feels a cool hand slip into his own that he realizes he’s zoned out and gone into defense mode.

“When I was younger all I wanted was a pet,” Castiel states, pulling Dean closer to his side and out of the way of any other passersby. He doesn’t let go of Dean’s hand as they walk and the clench of Castiel’s fingers around his own is grounding. It takes Dean a few seconds to gather his wits about him, but Castiel doesn’t stop talking, “My parents thought our house was too full and always refused my requests for an animal. On one particular day I had been down to the neighbor’s house, and they had kittens that were just old enough to leave their mother. I went home heartbroken that I wasn’t allowed to bring one home, and so Jimmy and Emmanuel snuck one into our house after telling the neighbors our mother had said it was okay.

“I was elated when I found him on my bed with a ribbon tied around his neck. I got to keep him for almost four hours before my parents found out and instructed us to take him back to the neighbor’s house.”

The deep sound of Castiel’s voice rumbling from his chest soothes Dean’s frayed nerves, and the tension he was holding in his shoulders just moments before begins to ebb.

“To this day, I’ve still never had a pet,” Castiel finishes.

Recognizing the random story for whatbit was, Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand in thanks, and Castiel squeezes back. 

On their way back to Cas’s place Castiel clears his throat in the quiet of the car before saying softly, “I apologize for asking about Iraq.”

Dean shakes his head, but keeps his eyes on the road. “Don’t be,” he assures the other man sincerely, “you didn’t know.”

“I’d still like to hear about it,” Castiel admits, “but only when you’re ready.”

“I gotta be honest with you, man,” Dean says chancing a glance at Castiel, “it might be awhile.”

Castiel nods, “I understand,” he says, “I’ll wait.” 

When Dean pulls up outside Castiel’s house, he’s torn between being the perfect gentleman and wanting to kiss Castiel good and dirty right there in the Impala. They sit in silence for a few seconds before Dean finally reaches for his door handle and mutters, “I’ll walk you up.”

They meet each other on the walkway and head towards Castiel’s front door in companionable silence. Dean wants to ask if Castiel had a good time, but he’s afraid of the answer.

They climb the few wooden steps on Castiel’s porch, and then Castiel is standing with his back turned to the front door and his eyes on Dean.

“Would it be terribly cliché of me to say ‘I had a nice time?’” Castiel wonders.

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “Probably,” he says, “but I’ve heard worse.”

Castiel nods, “That sounds like a story I’d like to hear,” he tells Dean, “another night?”

Dean offers Castiel a grin, “Yeah, Cas,” he says as his stomach comes alive with butterflies, “another night.”

They grow quiet again for a few brief moments, Dean internally screaming at himself to make a move, and then he sees Castiel’s hand reach out for the doorknob behind him and knows his window of opportunity has just been slammed shut.

“I’ll see you later, Cas,” he says swallowing down disappointment.   
Castiel nods, “Another night,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He sticks around long enough to watch the corners of Castiel’s lips tug upwards and then he turns and walks back down the porch steps.

He’s half way down the walkway, berating himself for being such a pansy, when he hears his name cut across Castiel’s front yard.

“Dean!”

Dean whirls around and Castiel is already down the front steps and in a few more long, graceful steps is standing right in front of Dean. Dean’s eyes widen, and he stares at Castiel who looks flustered and determined all at once.

“I didn’t think it’d be proper to-” He stops.

“To?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised.

Castiel crowds into Dean’s personal space, their breath intermingling and the warmth of Castiel’s body seeping into Dean’s own. “Dean, I’m going to kiss you now,” Castiel says quietly, his eyes trained on Dean’s lips.

Dean swallows and nods, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah, okay,” he says and then Castiel wraps his fingers around the lapels of Dean’s jacket and presses their lips together in a hungry kiss.

Dean’s hands find their way to either side of Castiel’s face, and he opens his mouth and allows Castiel inside.

It’s too racy for a first kiss, all tongues and teeth and the hard, desperate press of their bodies against one another, but Castiel doesn’t protest and so Dean is without reason to stop.

It’s not until the front door swings open that either of them pull away, and then they’re both looking towards the sound. They find Emmanuel coming to a stop in the doorway with a garbage bag in his hand and his eyes wide with apology as his cheeks flush red.

“Oh,” he says, “I-” He sets the garbage bag down and retreats back into the house with a small, apologetic wave.   
Castiel turns his gaze back to Dean’s and lets out a small chuckle.

“Did he do that on purpose?” Dean asks.   
Castiel shakes his head, a small smile still lingering at his lips, “I don’t believe so,” he says, “Emmanuel gets flustered during Disney films, I highly doubt he meant to see something very not a Disney film.”

Dean laughs at that and leans in for another kiss, but this time, just in case, he keeps it G rated.


End file.
